


Pretty in Pink

by cellard00rs



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crossdressing, First Time, M/M, Porn, Prom, Smut, bare backing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5254295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan wears a dress. Ford approves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty in Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Based on artwork by [chibistash](http://chibistash.tumblr.com/) that can be found [here.](http://chibistash.tumblr.com/post/133364027806/this-was-more-fun-than-i-expected-ford-kinda)

Stan sees the dress in a thrift store. It’s pink, soft satin with a short, scalloped skirt. And it’s surprisingly cheap. He looks at it with stars in his eyes and knows he has to have it. He takes it to the counter as casually as possible, hoping there won’t be any questions. But the woman ringing him up merely beams, “This is lovely! Is it for your girl?”

Lies are Stan’s second nature, “You bet, toots. My gal loves this kinda stuff.”

“Well, I’ll bet she’ll look just lovely in this! I actually have a matching tux, if you’re interested…”

Stan’s interested – after all, he can’t wear the dress around his father – not if he wants to live. The sales woman is so enchanted with the matching outfits and the yarn Stan spins about his ‘girlfriend’ and his plans for their magical night at the prom that she gives him a rather hefty discount. He leaves the store with both outfits in hand and big grin on his face.

The moment he gets home he scouts around for his family but finds no one in residence, which is great for his plans. He ducks into the restroom and, with sweaty hands, goes straight for the dress. He’s the perfect blend of excited and nervous to try on the dress – worried that it might not fit. After all, he had to sort of measure it with his eyes. It wasn’t like he could try it on in the store. But, much to his delight, it fits.

He looks into the mirror and beams at the sight. It’s-it’s beautiful! It fits like a glove, hugging to his body in all the right places. And the material! It feels so good against his skin! Smooth and cool. He turns this way and that. He tugs at his hair with a frown. He wishes it was longer. He’s wanted to grow it out forever but their father, like clockwork, makes sure that his mother trims his hair at least once a month. Him and Stanford both.

Stan actually confessed to Ford about his wish for longer hair. And Ford, being the best twin brother in the universe, supported him in this. But then, Ford supports him in a lot of things. Like their less than sibling-like relationship. Stan is always surprised Ford was the first one to make a move. Ford comes across as beyond shy most of the time, but he was the one to plant a kiss on Stanley first.

Stan had had a tough day at school and wasn’t looking forward to going home, another set of red ‘F’s glaring at him on his report card. Ford had done his best to reassure him, but nothing had been making much of an impact. So Ford told him to pull over. They were on a long stretch of road where there was nothing but big rows of trees on either side. However, there was enough ditch to comfortably pull off to. Stan did as requested, thinking Ford was going to give him some big, emotional pep talk.

Instead Ford kissed him.

And Stan just sat there, too stunned to do anything.

When Ford pulled away he’d looked at Stan and whispered, “Is-is this okay?”

“Are you-? Yer…yer not just kissin’ me outta pity, are ya Sixer?”

“No,” Ford confessed, chewing his bottom lip, “I’m-I’m kissing you because I want to. I’ve…wanted to for a long time.”

“And you chose today of all days?”

He shrugged, “Report card day isn’t tough for just you, Stanley. You think I like to see Dad ride you about your grades? Every time he does I just…I just want to pull you close and…I don’t know…protect you somehow. And kiss you, I always want to kiss you and-”

Ford’s words ended then because Stan lunged at him and then they kissed. They kissed and they kissed and they kissed. They kissed for so long that the sun set and yes, cars drove by, but no one seemed to notice that two teens were necking inside. Much less two teen boys, but maybe that’s because the windows fogged up. Still, that was the night everything cemented into place.

They had been seeing one another in a more than brotherly fashion for a couple of months now. It was a secret, covert affair that they both enjoyed immensely. And then Ford made it even more serious by asking Stan to prom. He had asked it in the most Ford-like way possible. They had been in their room doing homework – or, more accurately, Ford had been doing homework and Stan had been reading comics when Ford just off handedly remarked that they should go to prom together.

He pulled out a sheet of paperwork where he’d actually written a friggin’ _essay_ on why they should go together – it had bullet points. He made a _graph_. And Stan did his best to just huff and agree without showing the fact that his heart was trying to clamber its way out of his chest and he was seconds from choking on pent up, overjoyed tears.

Which is what has led to tonight. Stan paces around the restroom, enjoying the dress and wishing feverently that he could actually wear it to the dance. He imagines himself in the school gymnasium, Ford holding his arm and guiding him to the dance floor. They would dance close, the dress crushing perfectly against Ford’s blue suit and Stan’s face resting next to Ford’s shoulder, their hands intertwined. He hears the front door open and freezes, cold leeching into his blood.

If that’s his Pops, he has to change and quick…

“Stan?” a voice calls out and he immediately relaxes, recognizing Ford’s voice, he pops open the door a smidge, “Hey, Sixer!”

He hears Ford walking closer, “Stanley, where are you?”

“Bathroom. Just – just getting ready for the dance.”

“Oh, okay. I should do that too. Hey, I’ll change in our room and we can meet up in the living room – check each other out!”

Stan looks at himself in the mirror and an evil grin takes his face. As much as he’s terrified at the prospect of getting caught in this get up by either his mother or father the idea of the look on Ford’s face if he sees him in this dress…

“Sounds like a plan!”

 

+

 

The rest of the night Stan keeps chuckling to himself.

Every time he does, Ford glares at him and it just makes the chuckling worse. The chuckling is caused by the memory of when Stan came out in his dress. Ford had been standing in the living room, wearing his blue tux and looking incredibly handsome when Stan came out and genially asked, “Ready for prom, Sixer?”

And Ford’s face had filled with color as he stuttered his brother’s name and then proceeded to pretty much faint. It took Stan about twenty minutes to set him to rights – he had also had to change into his tux and the whole time he was nothing short of the living embodiment of laughter. It was just…Ford had looked so friggin’ _cute_. And overwhelmed. And he kept mumbling the word ‘pretty’ over and over, making Stan blush himself because it was so nice to hear.

So nice, in fact, that Stan found a way to smuggle the dress to the dance. There was no way in hell he was going to wear it at the actual event, but he had some plans for it. Plans he was currently more than ready to execute as they left the dance. The event itself was rather lackluster. Ford had gotten a face full of punch due to his remark to Angie McCorkle that – while her dress was nice – he had seen a better one earlier that evening.

True, she had started the whole affair – asking him if he liked her dress, but she clearly had not been prepared for the full bluntness of his honesty. Stanley, in solidarity, threw his own punch on himself. The brothers had had a good laugh and then left, eager to be with one another rather than within a room full of fellow students they could care less about.

Stan drove them to Dead Man’s Bluff – the requisite make out spot in town – and when they arrived they found themselves to be the only car in sight. This was a surprise –normally the bluff was packed on a Saturday and one would think it would be double packed on prom night, but Stan supposes most people are sneaking their dates into cheap motels.

Still, privacy makes this all the better, especially for his plans. He looks coyly at Ford, who tugs at his collar, looking flustered, “Sure is a nice night…”

“Yeah,” Stan returns, clicking on the radio. Old classics croon out of the speakers as he climbs from the driver’s seat over to the passenger side, engulfing Ford with kisses. Ford seems more than happy not to talk and to lose himself in physical action. They kiss for an indeterminable amount of time – Stan on Ford’s lap. It’s a little cramped and uncomfortable, but their raging hormones tamper down most of the awkwardness.

Every time Stan shifts he can feel the evidence of Ford’s arousal beneath him and it just makes his blood spike all the higher. He’s getting his twin well and truly worked up before he unlocks their mouths to press their foreheads together, whispering against Ford’s lips, “How’s about we move this to the back seat?”

Ford blinks stupidly then nods. Stan kisses him again before carefully untangling their bodies. He gets out of the car and Ford does the same. Ford holds open the door, like a gentleman, but Stan shakes his head, “You go ahead and get in – I gotta surprise for ya.”

Ford looks a little skeptical but does as requested. Stan looks around and, still seeing no one, pops the trunk and pulls out his dress. He swiftly changes, hoping Ford won’t peek out the back window. He eventually goes to the door and pops it open to find that Ford is actually sitting face forward, looking at the tub of Crisco Stan has on his floor board. His face is one of bemusement and he turns the tub this way and that thoughtfully before he turns and catches sight of Stan.

Yet again his cheeks take on a rosy hue, “St-Stanley…”

Stan gets in and shuts the door behind him, “You never really did get to appreciate this dress – thought you might like to now…”

Ford reaches out and gently traces his fingers over the fabric, “No, I didn’t…”

Stan always does his very best to hide how insecure he is, but right now it’s a colossal struggle as he breathes, “Do-do you like it?”

His brother’s eyes are downcast, focused still on the dress, fingers bunching in the material of the skirt as he nods, “I love it.”

He looks up, looks right into Stan’s eyes, “It looks so pretty on you. You’re-you’re so pretty,” he ducks forward and gives him a soft kiss, “Beautiful,” he cups his face and whispers against his mouth, “Gorgeous.”

Stan lets out a weak murmur as they start making out in earnest. Stan clambers back on to Ford’s lap again and, thanks to the roomier backseat, it’s easier for them to fool around with one another. Their hands are combing through each other’s hair and over their backs and shoulders and Ford is bunching up handfuls of Stan’s dress, squeezing it tightly and then he feels a little stretch of flesh where he thinks he shouldn’t.

Frowning, he lets his fingertips skim up Stan’s skirt, over rough, coarsely haired covered legs and he finds…Stan’s bare backside. His breath hitches, eyes unfocused as he opens them, “Underwear?”

Stan licks his lips and shakes his head, tone breathless, “Took ‘em off.”

Ford’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, “Wh-why?”

At this moment, Stan is pretty much mounted on top of Ford and it seems like the perfect position to make his confession, “It’s prom night, Sixer. You know what happens on prom night.”

Ford looks lost and Stan gives him a shaky, nervous grin, “It’s-it’s a tradition. Y’know…to-to make it on this night.”

“M-m-m-ake-?” Ford looks like he might faint again and Stan doesn’t want that, so he cups his face and gives him a hard kiss before saying, “I wanna do it with you, Stanford. Want you to-to be my first.”

Ford looks dumbstruck and the word ‘Really?’ leaves him so lightly it’s almost like he didn’t say it at all, but Stan caught it and he grins, nodding, “And my only.”

“I’m…I’m so honored…”

Stan snorts, “God, you’re sucha dork.”

“What?”

“You just said you’re ‘honored’ – like it’s some great honor to pop my cherry.”

“It is,” Ford says firmly and he looks into Stan’s eyes, his expression hotly serious, “You’re…you’re so special, Stanley. And-and to offer me this…to trust me enough to take your body and be with you so physically, so intimately…”

Ford’s words get cut off by Stan’s mouth because Stan can’t stand to hear anymore. Ford’s words are -well – they’re making his whole body feel crazy. Seized up with this airless, pulse pounding…god, he can’t even peg it to any emotion he knows. He just feels…overwhelmed. And his eyes want to water because Ford is saying such sweet, sweet stupid things.

Because it’s – it’s just sex. Just sex.

But even as Stan tries to convince himself of that, he _knows_ it’s so much more. They kiss more and there’s some fumbling as Ford’s pants are undone and pushed down and he looks at Stan sort of helplessly, “I-I don’t know how to-to-?”

“I got this,” Stan assures him, “In this arena, I’M the genius.”

Ford’s eyebrows rise almost towards his hairline, “Oh?”

“I read and research a lotta more filth than you do, Poindexter. Got hidden stacks of skin mags and pornos. I know how we can do this. Couple of ways, actually – depending on what we feel like. Frankly, I’d like to look you in the face, if that’s okay.”

“More than.” Ford says adamantly and Stan gives him a kiss and starts tugging at his jacket, “’Kay, then take this off. Gonna need it. Shirt too.”

They work together to remove Ford’s tie, shirt, and jacket. Stan balls it all up, bunches it beneath him in various ways as he rearranges himself to lie back on the cushioned backseat, legs on either side of Ford’s shoulders and Ford looks down at him with concern, “Isn’t this…uncomfortable?”

Stan shakes his head, “It’s fine. You mind if I keep the dress on?”

Ford pushes up the pink skirt, baring Stan’s thick, bobbing erection and he huffs, his glasses fogging as he lets out a wordless sound of agreement. Stan reaches down, fumbles for the tub of Crisco and when he finds it, he hands it to Ford, “Alright – use this to-to loosen me up.”

While Ford doesn’t have much education in this area, he’s a quick learner and very intuitive. Which is to say, he understands what Stan is asking him to do. He coats the fingers of one hand and reaches down. He rubs his palm over Stan’s burning length and carefully cups his sack, testing its weight. Stan whimpers and edges closer into his twin’s caress, “You can…you can maybe…roll ‘em a little…”

Ford does as instructed, his knuckles tenderly brushing over the sensitive skin and Stan gasps, “Doin’-doin’ good…go lower…”

Ford’s fingers trail downward, skating beneath his balls and lower, finding his ass cheeks and parting them gently, circling his hole. It’s tight and he does his best to pierce it carefully, one finger carefully inserting itself and moving in. Stan hisses and his hips buck up slightly, trying to draw Ford deeper as he groans, “That’s-that’s it.”

“I’m not-not hurting you?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure I’m sure…just…little weird. You’ve…y’know, got a finger up my ass.”

Ford lets out a hysterical snort and Stan beams, some of the tension breaking, “But it’s okay…you can go deeper. Maybe-maybe even add another one…”

He does as instructed and Stan feels himself stretch as another finger enters. It burns and stings but not in a way that is entirely unpleasant. It’s merely…odd. Weird. Ford’s fingers surge in a little deeper and they brush something spongey and Stan’s whole body grows rigid as he lets out a sharp whine. Ford freezes, worried, but Stan’s hands are clutching at his own hair as his body bows and he moans, “ _Oh_! Christ! Do that again!”

Ford repeats the action and Stan lets out another keen, “Ford!”

“Good?”

“Yes! _Yes_!” Stan pleads and he surges back into the touch, wants it again, and Ford feels Stan’s hips move against him, insistent. He repeatedly moves his fingers, thrusting against the spot that drives Stan crazy. He finds himself groaning right along with his twin, his own cock throbbing in time with their sounds. The windows in the car are now completely steamed up and Stan’s fingers occasionally brush the cool glass, smearing it as he scrambles for purchase.

Ford adds another finger and another and he’s starting to wonder if he can fit his whole hand up there when Stan moans, head thrashing from side to side, “ _You_ – I want you, Stanford!”

“You-you have me?”

“No! In me, _in me_!” Stan cries and his hands find Ford’s dick, stroking the soaking tip and Ford’s breath hitches because several drops of pearly precome have already escaped him. He shakes his head, “But, no…protection…”

“Ford, for fuck’s sake, I want to feel you inside of me right this second!” Stan curses and he shifts his body around, pushing at Ford’s arms to try and get him to withdraw his fingers because fingers aren’t what he wants. He wants Ford and he wants him now, buried inside of him and Ford – overheated and over stimulated – can do nothing but comply.

He withdraws his hands and bunches up more of Stan’s lovely skirt, the satin material running tantalizingly along Stan’s own aching shaft as he positions himself and he just…he slides in. For some reason, Ford thought Stan’s body would be more resistant. But between the Crisco and his earlier preparation, he finds his entrance a smooth transition. In fact he slides in deep, all the way to the hilt and the sound that leaves Stan is earth shattering.

It’s damn near close to a bellow and their bodies crush together, totally entrenched, Ford’s forehead presses to Stan’s, their lips sliding wetly along one another, hot puffs of air passing between them, shared breaths, as Ford gasps, “Stanley, _oh god_. Stanley, _sweetheart_ …”

The endearment clutches at Stan’s very soul as he lets out a low moan. Ford pauses for a moment, not ready to move just yet, “I’m…I’m _inside_ you…”

“Yeah…” Stan returns in the same tone of amazed wonder.

“You-you feel so- _so_ good.”

“You too.”

“Should I-? May I move?”

Stan can’t help but let out a panting laugh, “Well, since you asked so politely…”

Ford starts slowly, pistoning himself in and out almost mechanically. Stan can’t help the weak sounds that leave him. Tiny, disconcerting little grunts as he gets used to the feeling of Ford’s cock moving within him. His brother is surprisingly larger than he anticipated and he finds his eyes irrevocably drawn downwards.

His legs are fully parted and raised high enough that he has a good view, even if his skirt is rucked up around his hips, a frothy collection of pink, billowing fabric. He can see the hot, damp space where he and Ford are connected, can see their hips meeting flush against one another and he lets out a moan, head arching back because the sight is unbearably arousing.

Ford picks up the pace, trying different angles and eventually Stan feels him brush the spot he needs to and he presses their lips together, gasping against him, “ _Mmm_ , yes, Stanford, yes…right there, please…”

He gets a tender kiss as an answer before Ford focuses all his attention there, grinding downward; body charging forward with brisk determination. He buries his face into Stan’s neck, bites at it as he hisses darkly, “Like this, huh?”

Stan lets out a twisted hum, the pleasure inside of him rising like a tidal wave as a fantastic pressure builds up in his balls, the combined sensation of both Ford’s length and his teeth penetrating him almost more than he can handle and somehow since entering him Ford has transformed, his whole manner less nerdy nebbish and more sexual conqueror as he purrs hungrily, “Tell me, c’mon…tell me you like this, Stanley…”

“Fuck!” Stan moans, “ _Love it_!”

“Yeah? You want more?”

“Wh-? M-more?” Stan’s confused for but a second, because as soon as the question leaves his mouth it’s as if he actually _did_ ask Ford for more, as his brother starts damn near _jackhammering_ into him. Stan practically howls with delight as he clutches at Ford’s back, claws at it with his blunt, short nails. He answers each of Ford’s thrusts with one of his own and they’re rocking, straining, against one another with a wild savagery. 

Stan can feel the car rocking heavily beneath them and some part of him actually manages to worry briefly about the suspension because holy fuck! The vehicle _has_ to bouncing on its wheels at this point. He would have never dreamed that Ford would be so – so passionate. Much less passionate about this of all things.

Ford’s passionate about homework and studying and _math_. Passionate about science and supernatural occurrences and nerd board games. But, in a strange turn of events, he’s also apparently passionate about _sex_. Or at least sex with Stanley as he’s giving it his all, working Stan’s body like an instrument and Stan’s seconds from blistering and breaking apart, a tight cord of ecstasy building deep within him and Ford is still talking, voice a husky growl, “Yeah, that’s it, c’mon…so sweet…c’mon, come for me, sweetheart…”

At those words Stan loses it at long last, Ford’s name leaving him in a strangled grunt as he comes harder than he ever has in his entire life. He can feel himself shooting - dick twitching with long, hard pulls and he feels close to transcendent.

Part of him wildly wonders if he’ll ever even _stop_ climaxing, because he’s never been this gone for this long. And Ford’s over him, still pounding away and shouting encouragement and then Stan feels a deep seated pulse inside of him - feels a hot, wet, sticky rush as Ford’s own orgasm comes. Ford’s forehead crashes into his own but not hard – no – if anything their slick skin slides together, making the moment oddly charming as the heated haze starts to draw away, starts to fade back into something more romantic and tender.

It’s a while before either of them moves and, when they do, Ford is the first to sit up and look completely stumped. The conqueror has fled and once more he’s Stan’s nerd-in-shining-armor. In fact, he looks extremely shy - as if he would never, ever say or do anything remotely carnal – much less something as carnal as what they just did.

Stan sits up with a bit of a wince, and, dryly laughing, remarks, “Man, you really wrecked my ass, didn’t you?”

Ford looks so horrified that Stan laughs more and Ford starts jabbering out apologies but Stan just waves him off, “It’s fine, Sixer, it’s _fine_. You didn’t hurt me, I promise.”

“I-I don’t know what came over me…”

“Look, I’m totally okay with what just happened. Nothing wrong with you being some kinda sex-crazed beast – in fact, I prefer it, ‘cause I gotta tell you - that was pretty damn _amazing_.”

Ford takes off his glasses and rubs at his forehead. The glasses themselves are smudged from all the activity, especially seeing as they never really left Ford’s face during the whole affair. Stan pushes Ford’s shirt over to him so his brother can use it to wipe off the lenses. He does so quickly and once they’re back on, he asks softly, “W-was it? I mean, I know it was for me, but-”

“Ford, shut up,” Stan gives him a quick, sweet kiss; “It was perfect.”

He ducks his head, looking pleased and Stan rolls his eyes, lounging back onto the backseat again and laughing, “Though I don’t think I’ll be able to sit right for a week.”

Ford turns the exact shade of Stan’s dress and Stan laughs. He lies there and listens to the radio. Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy’ idly plays and he looks up at the windows coated in a thick collection of condensation. He smirks to himself and sees that the window near Ford is also coated, so he points at it, “Hey, don't forget to leave our names so they know who owns the place.”

Grinning, Ford uses one finger to write their names onto the window.


End file.
